


Dismantle

by findmyantidrug



Category: Watchmen
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-08
Updated: 2009-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:05:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findmyantidrug/pseuds/findmyantidrug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan knows this is the last thing he should be doing, but it's almost a comfort. It almost makes something make sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dismantle

Dan swallows, though his mouth is dry. Adrian stands in front of him, over him, fully dressed in his costume and bearing an expression of simple serenity. "Go on, Dan," he says, and Dan expects him to move into a better position, but he doesn't. Just stands there. Dan will have to reach out to Adrian. He will have to crawl on his hands and knees, and his nose is aching still but there is a stirring of heat in his gut.

There is the shadow of rage locked in his chest, but it's overcome by an intense numbness that's not just emotional. He doesn't feel his body tip forward, but the pale form of his hands against Adrian's black marble floor is enough proof that he is doing this.

It's not Laurie he thinks of as he crawls forward, though he knows somewhere he should. He's thinking about the New Yorkers whose bodies are decomposing on the streets even as he crawls, and he's thinking about his father. How badly he wanted Dan to be a banker, to follow in his footsteps. He can see his father's face perfectly the way it was the day he confessed that he was becoming Nite Owl. He can imagine that if his father knew that Daniel had failed the world, he would look at him with the same quiet disappointment.

Adrian's boots are suddenly obscuring his vision, sleek purple and grounded as if they were meant to take root here, always. He doesn't look up. He doesn't want to see Adrian's expression. This isn't about them, really. This is about Ozymandias being shown proper respect by a man who was unable to stop the worst.

Adrian Veidt is very patient, but the patience is unnecessary. Dan leans down, conscious of his bare back in the air, and licks the top of his boot, slow. He shuts his eyes and breathes out of his nose, amazed at how easily he can do this. He has no idea how long Adrian wants him to stay like this, so he sets a slow pace, licking across Adrian's boots until his hands feel like they're going to give out and he has to settle on his elbows to feel steady again.

He's faintly surprised by how cold the marble feels against his forearms, but he doesn't let his thoughts linger on the hot pulse between his legs. The two facts are unconnected, he decides, so it's true. Dan can hear Adrian's breath, sharp and quick but controlled, always in control. Every moment precise.

Dan pauses and licks his lips. He's panting, and not sure when he started, and the thick taste of leather fills his mouth. Adrian hasn't told him to stop, but he doesn't reprimand Dan; nor does he demand that he continue. Dan can feel his eyes on the back of his neck and he imagines that gaze raking across every exposed inch of his body, and he supposes that next to prophets, disciples will always be pitiable. Adrian's boots are shining with his spit.

Dan forces his breath to slow down and leans in again, gently kissing the tip of one of Adrian's boots. He won't touch himself, he decides, and when he shifts his hands, the steamed imprints slowly fade away. He kisses the other, and realizes with a calm that is probably attributed to the numbness that he doesn't feel stupid. This is just what is due, and any shame is simply a necessary part of him, what he owes the world.

"Daniel," Adrian says, drawing out his name in a manner so compelling that Dan can't help but look up. Adrian stares at him, hungry and very, very human.

(He's giving the offering of a worshipper to a god, but the god is a man, and Dan doesn't care enough to hate himself.)

Dan doesn't wait to dip his head low again, licking across Adrian's boots in smooth strokes, and he's burning with shame and something else and shame all over again, but he doesn't try to stop himself from sliding his tongue up. Over the smooth leather of the boots, across Adrian's knees, up the inside of his thigh. Adrian puts his hands on his shoulders and Dan stops just under his erection, breathing. The smell of Adrian's arousal is heavy, and the taste of leather is stagnating on his tongue.

He can hear the televisions, all broadcasting news about New York. He wonders briefly how long it took for the reporters to find the best shots. He's disturbed despite himself by the subjectivity necessary for choosing which carnage is more aesthetic, which will pull the most views.

Adrian's body radiates warmth, and Dan's hate is muted. He opens his mouth against Adrian's pants and breathes through his nose (and worships a man he must detest).


End file.
